


Out of Nature

by Argyle



Category: Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:16:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This was my conversion to the baroque."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Nature

Each evening at Brideshead during that enchanted August seemed to turn a new leaf of discovery. I was prepared to sample the fine fruits of pleasure, savoring my budding affections, and allowed tales to be told as the hopes of future and past twined through the high pillars. Hours passed, languidly drawing upon the softened shadows of dusk and the fading lights that were at length pulled into darkness by veiled chariot or train. Midnight approached with a wash of fresh delights, tempting and entreating those who held both youth and languor, eager to be swept away. I was no exception.

Sebastian insisted that we drink under the canopy of the night sky, clicking our glasses together and pouring from thick, green bottles, our techniques of wine-tasting long forgotten. We sat by the edge of the fountain and the stone surfaces were cool beneath me as I leaned over the water, tracing runes across its glinting, whorled looking-glass face.

As I gazed upon it, the fountain’s lines seemed suddenly transformed, and it at once became a great, lumbering beast, swathed by shadow. My ears were met by the din of falling droplets and leaves that scattered within the long stretches of the orchards beyond. It was an acutely different scene than the one that clung to my heart by the light of day as I looked to it for long hours, each minute seeping into the next as the hard dashes of my pen marked its form. No, the darkness seemed to summon specters from the clear depths, its voice a potent whisper. Even through my clouded vision, laced by wine and laughter, I sensed some spark of menace that lurked within the carved limbs of stone, though my base instinct was to drown it out with knowledge of the present.

Indeed, I was aware of nothing if not the present. It seemed that there was an endless draught of wine and water, a fluidity of emotion that caught my reflection from the sheets of the earliest summer rains, casting a glint of gold across my eyes. I imagined that Sebastian’s hair looked several shades lighter, almost ashen, cradled by the light of the moon. He smiled, his head held at a rakish angle.

“Really, my dear, I can’t fathom why you find it so interesting.” He narrowed his eyes, glancing to his glass and draining it with a relaxed turn of his wrist.

“I’m not certain that I would be able to explain it, myself,” I said with a carefully articulated distinctness.

“Ah, well.”

I felt him shift beside me, the hem of his jacket idly brushing over the back of my hand as he dropped his cigarette into the dust, vanquishing its feeble flame. The air surrounding us seemed to grow still, softened by consideration, and Sebastian’s breath fell lightly against my cheek. By the pull of my pulse, I knew that there was no other course to take at that moment, no crossroads of growth and indecision, and so I closed my eyes as I met his mouth with my own.

There is always a certain amount of unreality that comes with the sudden realization of one’s dreams, though I realized then, as Sebastian’s palm pressed against my thigh, that it ceased to matter. It was as though the darkness had suddenly been drawn back across the terrace, however momentarily, and my mind became infused by a cloud of perception. His mouth tasted of sunshine and claret, a distinct combination of desire and hesitation that has not yet faded from my memory as with the passage of time.

I brushed my hand against his cheek and through the fine strands of his hair, feeling that we would live forever. Yes, from our very first meetings, as I searched for certainties within myself, I sensed in Sebastian a speaker of my own language, one who followed the trail of his own distant star.

Pressing closer, I wrapped my arm around Sebastian’s back, my hand smoothly falling across the folds of his jacket. His fingertips touched my throat as he began to loosen the buttons there with a practiced delicacy.

“Darling Charles,” he said, breaking away for a moment to meet my eyes.

I smiled, remaining silent as I leaned forward again, pausing only as I felt Sebastian’s grip tighten on my shoulder, the fabric of my shirt gathered against his fingers. There was a cry, mockingly dramatic, and I found myself sitting within the fountain, engulfed by water.

Through the haze of our shouts, merriment and surprise, I watched as Sebastian dashed a hand across his brow, shivering slightly with the touch of the damp air. Reaching into my breast-pocket, I gently pulled upon the lace of my handkerchief and raised it before my eyes. I smiled with subtle satisfaction. Drips hung from its dangling tip, lightly dotting the surface of the pool, and Sebastian laughed delightedly.

I began to stand, straightening my knees, only to come crashing down once more as Sebastian insistently tugged upon my wrist. Bemused, I shook my head. There was again a stillness to the night, broken only by the splash of the founts and the haggard rhythm of my breath.

“Sebastian?”

“Hello, Charles.” Sebastian turned, a deliberately dazzling smile grazing swiftly across his lips as he settled beside me. He touched his palm to the water's surface, pausing for a moment before allowing it to fall against my arm. Through the glaze of his eyes and the surrounding motion of the fountain, I saw a glimmer of reassurance, the haphazard note of his promise. It seemed to pause, searching for its bearings against the curtain of darkness, somehow hoping for more than just the means to an end. “Can it be you?”


End file.
